


The smut you were waiting for

by RPingBadThings



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Crossdressing Kink, F/M, Forced Crossdressing, High Heels, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Man in Make Up, No Spoilers, Peaky Blinders : Season 1, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sorry Not Sorry, This fandom is in a desperate need of fanfiction, also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPingBadThings/pseuds/RPingBadThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>featuring : Thomas Shelby in women's lingerie, in a bad bdsm scene with two very creative dominants, Grace and Chester. </p>
<p>How the fuck Thomas ended up like this? <br/>What the hell an old inspector does in a smut!? <br/>Does the author really ships Grace/Chester!!?? </p>
<p>and the final question : Did I know I had those kinks before!?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The smut you were waiting for

**Author's Note:**

> Yay. 
> 
> Please don't yell at me for this. I had to. Someone had to.

The room is small, but relatively well-kept, a tiny, unsuspicious nuisance given what part of Birmingham they’re living in. Grace counts it amongst miracles, that they managed to find it and buy it for a good price, all of it, without catching anyone’s attention.

Chester, per usual, grumbles under his nose about bloody bastards and Peaky Blinders.

Yet, it doesn’t really matter, what the gang is up to these days, be it taking over another horse race or removing big fishes from the pond. Chester only pretends to be chasing them, even if he convinced himself otherwise.

He fooled Thomas as well, and Grace, for all her name means, doesn’t find it in herself to lead him out of the dark. Fear and lust are beautiful on his face, a mixture she can’t stop thinking about. And the sole fact that she can make those feelings resurface, break the mask he’s always wearing, makes her skin crawl with pleasure and hear heart beat faster.

She’s as addicted as the rest of Birmingham’s underground.

Four grey walls with a resemblance of old green paint, one window, currently covered, a decent couch in the left corner, small fireplace, one table and two rusty chairs - that’s her kingdom, her castle. She’s the ruler in here and even if its far from grand and posh, from what she was used to, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

There are two fish-hooks in the ceiling, meter and a quarter apart from each other; just enough for a tall man to stand on his toes, spread his arms and grab them. Just enough, to keep Thomas Shelby panting for breath.

“How long?” He asks her, and right there, there’s only hate in his blue eyes, his jaw set firmly in anger. He’s handsome, when he looks at her like that, when he’s strong and fierce; the leader of Peaky Blinders, the man that owns Birmingham, but she knows it’s only a matter of time, until he breaks.

“However long it takes, you know the rules.” She turns her back at him, focusing her attention on the dinner for two that she brought all the way back from her own apartment in a safer district.

Nothing special, roasted ham with vegetables, a bottle of wine; but she’s not going to show Thomas she cares, that’s the way it works.

Somehow, somewhat, he’s still in love with her.

He’ll deny it with all his might, right up till the end. When he’s begging for her, openly, only two emotions painted on him - lust, after her, after the pleasure and bliss she can give, and fear, that he’ll not be able to stop, that he’ll want more and more and nothing but her will be enough.

Right now, with his muscular arms spread wide, hands clenched tight on the hooks, he hates her. For her betrayal. For the pain she has caused and the dreams she has crushed.

There’s silence between them, Thomas doesn’t have much words for her anymore. So she uses the time to make sure everything is as perfect as it can, given the circumstances. The fire crack softly in the fireplace, warming the room, several towels cover up the couch, and a small bucket with hot water stands by it.

Everything is ready for Chester to show up; to start their game.

At first, she thought that maybe Chester will like to prepare Thomas himself; to strip him of his clothes and dignity, to make the most out of their meeting - but then, she changed her mind. With his suit on, Thomas is always more keen on fighting, on causing trouble and then walking out on people.

Instead of risking, the first thing she said to him, was simple, low :

“Clothes off, Shelby.”

He didn’t make a joke about it, the corners of his lips didn’t twitch in amusement, like it used to. His eyes didn’t even meet hers. It hurt, but Grace knew very well where she was standing and what she could get.

Peculiar thing, that he fights Chester and yields to her.

Grace breathes in and out, preparing herself for the evening, steeling her heart, when she hears footsteps on the staircase. She can feel Thomas tensing up behind her, the air catching in his lungs for a few seconds, then coming out faster than before.

His fear is almost here.

Just a few more steps, one turn to the left.

“Grace?” There’s a knock on the door, then “I’ve brought you something special tonight.”

Grace looks for a second at the green wall in front of her, expressionless, then her eyes light up with excitement, a smile appears on her young face. First and foremost, she’s a great actress.

She hurries to get the doors, and between steps, pinches her cheeks to redden them a bit.

Chester won’t question, he’ll assume, and that’s enough for her play.

“I’ve made dinner.” She says when he comes in.

They both ignore the naked man standing in the middle. There’s no one at the corridor, curtains cover the only window, their secret is well hidden and protected, so there’s no reason to hasten anything.

And besides, Thomas is never simply content with being overlooked nor plainly ignored.

“Thank you, my dear.” Chester reaches to kiss her forehead and she lets out a huff of breath to rise his blood pressure. He brought a bag with himself and Grace’s interest piqued; Chester’s taste is unusual but she found out long time ago, that she’s in for most of it.

“What’s in the bag?” She asks, unable to help herself.

“A present,” his tone is light, conversational. He’s an actor too, though, not as good as she is. “For our guest."

He hangs his coat on the chair and reaches for the black, material bag.

There’s another hitch in Thomas’ breathing, but her attention is now on Chester.

“I’m afraid it will take us some time to prepare him, but I assure you, it’ll be worth it,” Chester says as he unpack; first the leather high heels, with the heel so high it reminds Grace more of a ballet shoes than actual ones, then women’s lingerie, black, soft pants with laces on the edges, and a bolero, made of the same material.

For a second, she thinks it’s for her and has to swallow a protest - she’s wearing her usual set of clothes, and of course she’s prepared for tonight’s entertainment, but that doesn’t mean she’s up for that. But then, she takes in the size of the clothes and shoes and this time, her breath catches too.

“I’m glad you approve, Grace,” Chester smiles at her, smugly. “Unpack the rest, will you? I need to remind our guest of his purpose.”

Grace nods eagerly, only with the corners of her eyes watching the men in front of her. Thomas is still holding to the hooks, but he’s shaking from anger now; there’s fear in him, but not nearly enough yet to show properly. Chester will change that, surely.

“Your brothers are alive, spending the night in arrest,” Chester starts, looking at, but not touching his prize. “Of course, that can easily change. We both know how poorly protected prisons are and how criminals wait there to strike. I wonder, how many enemies your family has there?”

Thomas spits on his face in return.

The fear creeps closer and closer to the surface.

Grace moved with the bag to the couch, and a dildo and a small glass bottle of oil joined the rest of the items, creating an interesting vision in her mind. By the time either of men looked her way, she had discovered a red lipstick, powder and eye shades. And, of course, Chester’s favorite bull’s whip.

Just when Chester’s about to slap Thomas in the face, Grace cuts in.

“The dinner will get cold,” her voice is pure steel, “we should start preparations.”

Chester looks at Thomas for a few more seconds, then his expression change from frustration to self content once again. After all, he already won.   
“Have you washed him yet?” He asks, and Grace shakes her head.

“I waited for you.”

“Good,” he mutters, as she knew he would. “Bring me the bucket.”

Thomas is red with anger, but the shame of the situation is growing on him, making him unable to hold their gaze. He looks around the room, searching for anything to look at; but it was Grace that insisted on leaving the walls plain, to unnerve him even more.

“I am not-” he starts with fury, but stops himself in time.

“See,” Grace laughs before Chester can even think about punishing Thomas. “He remember your rules.”

“As I’ve told you,” Chester agrees, then reaches for the wet cloth. The water is still hot enough to steam, and Thomas flinches at the first touch. “Come on.”

They work slowly, but methodically. Grace takes the left side and the back, Chester the right one and the front - they start from the top. Thomas is pliant, though he fights for control, when their hands move on his body. He’s tense, shaking, but doesn’t attack them, merely keeps his head down and bites his lip.

He’s here, because he let his guard down, because Chief Inspector of Birmingham Police Department managed to catch him - again - and threaten him into compliance.

He’s here, instead of finding another way because he’s an addict.

“Hush, beautiful,” Grace murmurs, when her hands wander between his cheeks, and a violent shiver runs up his spine. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

“We’re going to,” Chester corrects her with resolve. “Unless you have something else in mind, boy?”

Thomas shudders more, either out of pure rage or in anticipation - or, perhaps, because of both of those things. This early in their game, Grace’s unable to tell.

“Are you going to dress him up?” She asks, looking at the black bag and what was inside of it; she’s curious, waiting to see Thomas when he breaks for them in the most mesmerizing way.

“Yes, and you’ll do his make-up.”

It’s a clue for her to back up. These special nights of theirs, the only reason they make it work is because of a set structure. Thomas - of course - is either caught by Chester, or more occasionally, lured in by her, to the small room they bought. She would make dinner, Chester would bring in anything he wanted to use.

It was Chester’s part, to prepare Thomas - sometimes she joined him, helped from the side, but she never took over it, never actively stopped his taunts or hushed him. And if the way he touched Thomas made the hair on her hands stand and shivers ran straight to her abdomen, there was no one to judge her here.

Chester’s involvement ends with dinner, when both of them ignore the elephant in the room, and eat. Usually, they would talk about all the most insignificant things, starting from gossip columns in newspapers to cheesy romance novels Grace’s friends had recently read.

Until then, until the dishes are set aside and the wine poured.

That’s when Grace’s regin begins.

For now, she’s content with sitting back and enjoying the show.

Chester takes over the other chair, set it next to Thomas and with ballet heels in one hand, and bandages in the other, sits.

“Give me your leg, boy,” he orders, not looking up.

It takes a while for him to comply - Grace witnesses the battle that goes inside his head. Should he refuse? He really wants to, but both, Grace and Chester made sure to teach him that when the shame and pain fade away, there’s only pleasure waiting for him. That every sacrifice is generously rewarded.

“Good.” Chester grabs Thomas’ calf and ankle, then positions his leg on his lap. His grip leaves a reddened skin underneath, doesn’t allow even a bit of movement. “Stay still,” he orders.

Chester takes his time, firstly, to massage Thomas’ foot, then, to bandage it. Grace watches the insecurity in Thomas’ body language - she studied for espionage, and moreover, she spied on him for months, she knows all his tells by heart - his tense shoulders, nervous twitches of muscles, corner of his eyes, shining with tears. He’s bitting his lips, looking down, shielding his face as good as he can, but it’s never enough to hide.

“I wish I had bought a camera with me,” Chester says and it’s like a bull seeing red. Thomas twists his body out of Chester’s hands, and almost - almost lets go of the fish-hooks. He goes as far as he can, alarmed and looks straight at Grace, accusing.

“You know the rules,” she reminds calmly, from her chair. “We all do.”

And the rules state clearly, that there will never be any evidence of what happens on their nights together.

However, there’s no rule that would stop Chester from taunting Thomas.

Grace smiles under her nose, as Thomas realizes his mistake, how easily he let himself be played. In a matter of seconds, his insecurity disappears, replaced by anger. He shots murderous look at Chester and slowly, as if it pained him, moves to his pervious position - right leg on the older man’s lap.

Without further delay, Chester puts the high heel on, silently thriving under Thomas glare. When it’s done and Thomas tries to rise the other leg up, it becomes obvious how much pressure the shoes put on his toes, how much different his balance must be. Grace feels a pang of sympathy, because, yes, she knows how a high heels can kill your feet and she never had ones this high.

Thomas, forced to rely more on his hands than legs, manages eventually to follow Chester order and the second heel is put on.

“See, almost ready,” Chester mutters and takes a moment to appreciate his work, not shying from touching it as well. He grips Thomas’ inner thigh and pinches it hard, smiling when the man tenses and tries to squirm away.

“I wonder,” Chester begins, smug again, “have you ever worn those? Women’s lingerie?”

Thomas blushes hard and Grace has to stop herself from rising up and touching that handsome, pink face. If she had know, or had had any inclination that women’s lingerie affected him in this way, she would put him in fancy pants long, long time ago. Hell, she would even get a bra and pantyhose in the right size.

“Perhaps that’s exactly what you wear under your suits,” Chester says, voice sweet with triumph , “does that make you hard? When you fantasize of men, real men, taking you? Fucking you till you beg them for release?”

Grace doesn’t comment on Chester words, instead, focuses on Thomas.

“Stay still, boy,” is another order, followed by growled, “or I’ll make sure no on will mistake you for a man again.”

Thomans grunts when Chester grips his soft cock and tugs painfully, his hips, against his best intentions, move with the older man’s hand.

“Leg up,” Chester orders as he bends to put the lingerie on.

Once upon a time, Thomas wouldn’t even hesitate to kick him in the face, to let go of the hooks and beat the living shit out of anybody ordering him around. But things have changed since last year, and the wolf living in Birmingham has been house broken many times already.   
More a lamb, than a wolf now.

“Look at him, Grace,” Chester says, taking his chair back to the table, and then moving to pull at the chains of fish-hooks and bringing them a bit higher. Thomas strains to keep his balance, doing his best not to loose the grip on the warmed metal. “Isn’t he a beauty?”

Grace can only agree, there’s nothing like a sight of Shelby at their mercy. Of course, he can release his arms at any given moment, they don’t tie him up, simply order to hold onto the hooks - but that would be breaking their rules. There would be punishment following it, either for Thomas directly, during their night, or indirectly, through his family members or gang. So he holds on, standing on his toes, in high heels and lingerie, pink like a virgin.   
“Finish him up.” Chester finally sits at the table, opens the bottle of wine and pours two glasses.

Grace takes her time, with Thomas spread for her like that, she has to stand on the couch to reach his face without restrictions.

“Look at me, Shelby,” she orders, and when he doesn’t comply, she lifts his head by force. Her nails dig into his skin, but those blue eyes, shining with frustration, still avoid her. “Are you a man? Or did Peaky Blinders have a girl for a leader?”

Thomas’ smart enough to recognize women as equal in bussines, doesn’t think of them as less, well, at least tries to, but it still hurts his pride, to be stripped of his masculinity so easily. Yet, he doesn’t look.

Grace takes a deep breath- then slaps him, hard. Her hand leaves a harsh mar on his cheek.

“Do you really want to be punished so bad?” She asks, then grips his chin and moves a little bit closer. “Do you really want me to hurt you, again?”

There are tears in his eyes, either from the force of her hit or from the sudden wave of emotion that hits him and that he’s not quite able to keep off of his face. With effort, he finally looks at her and she rewards him with a tight smile.

“Good,” she muses, opening up the powder. “Let’s take care of you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
